


Warklok

by zzoaozz



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dialect, Drinking, Language, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zzoaozz/pseuds/zzoaozz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan has a fantastic idea for a new album.  Unfortunately, it could prove deadly for the band.  Charles does his best to make sure of their safety, while Nathan does everything he can think of to have it his way.  Meanwhile, Skwisgaar takes Toki in hand and shows him a new way to find his full potential as a guitarist.   Oh, and Murderface has grenades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not A Test

_"This is not a test,  
Not a fucking test,  
Can you hear me?  
Do you fear me?  
I am the one  
Too late to run  
The TV screams   
This is not a test,  
This is not a test  
The TV Bleeds  
This is not a test!"_

Nathan's fierce growl shook the glass columns of the art museum. Behind them, the one hundred TV's the frontman had insisted on blinked and flashed occasionally dissolving into static at the pure electrical overload. From the low throaty growl of test the two guitars spiraled up, screaming for dominance, fighting their way into what was already being called the most brutal guitar duet of all time. The instruments wailed and raged, the higher and more demanding lead wielded by the tall slender Swede. His blond hair was a constant fall of gold as he headbanged in the weird blue light of the video screens. The lower richer sounds of the rhythm guitar refused to take their normal second place. They screamed and fought and clawed their way along the lead using it, matching it, blending with it and taking power from it, as the shorter, chestnut haired man thrashed just as fiercely. 

Charles Ofdensen watched the monitors. Live albums were always a pain to get down, but this one was going well. He wondered if his two guitarists knew they were playing the best of their life. Probably not, this solo had come about purely as an argument. For once Toki had not backed down when Skwisgaar had attacked his playing. After taking three personal days for depression which Murderface had pointed out to the manager was already two over his contract limit, he had come back with the idea for the blistering duet. Nathan had liked it and built this whole album around it and darned if it did not look like this one was outselling Dethwater. Dethtest was already quadruple platinum and this new live version from the Metropolitan Art Museum should follow in its footsteps. There was a crash of glass almost artistically placed as the massive glass-paned windows shattered showering death on the thousands of fans and nervous museum personal. "That's my bread and butter," he said proudly with one of his rare smiles. 

After the concert back at Mordhaus Nathan paced the floors muttering to himself. He was already worrying about how to top the success of the latest album. 

"Maybes we's could does an album on the moon," Toki murmured watching the lunar explorer bounce over the weird red soil an the big screen TV. 

"That isn'ts the moon, yous idiots. That's is Mardes. It's reds. The moons is grey," Skwisgaar corrected.

"Mar desss?" Toki pronounced awkwardly.

"It's Mars, you douchebags," Pickles corrected.

"Mard sssss," Skwisgaar repeated slowly.

"Maaaarddds," Toki's brow wrinkled in concentration.

"It's Mars, Mars, the red planet, the lunar rover is on Mars! Sheesh." Pickles muttered.

Skwisgaar tilted his head imperiously, "oh yes? then tells me this, Mr. I Don't knows Cats from Dildoes Fucking Smarty Pants, How cans its be the LUNAR rovers when it's nots on the moons, and lunars is meaning a thing that the moon, it is on, the moon nots Mardes?"

"Wowie, Goood question!" Toki enthused. 

Pickles slapped his hand over his face, his nasal Wisconsin whine pronounce, "Whatever. There isn't enough booze in Germany for this."

"Mars, that's it. Mars is the bringer of WAR!" Nathan clenched a fist and roared the last word. "What's more brutal than war?"

"War's pretty well understood to be brutal," Murderface agreed driving his dagger into the couch arm."

"War is brutals, yes, peoples dying, guns, bombses." Toki nodded.

"I can't argue with that." Pickles nodded and turned up a bottle of beer.

"War is the brutalness, yes. Very metal." The swede plunked out a hard rift on his guitar.

"I'm going to think, keep quiet." Nathan marched off.

"Oh great. so we have like two month's vacation now. Better get busy, lot's of drinking to do." Pickles stood up and walked out.

"I'm going to work on Planet Piss. We've got one track down, but I may start over. It's just not.... you know, there." 

"And it's nevers wills be," Skwisgaar said to his retreating back as he walked out. 

Toki played back their duet in the video. "The video is numbers one, already on music televisions." 

"What is thats awfuls sounds coming from your guitars, Toki?" 

"What the hell? My guitar is sounding good, I was totally brutal."

"You were dildoes. Listens."

Toki closed his eyes concentrating hard and he heard it, things he might have done better, smoother. Damn him, he was right. He sucked. He was awful. He could hear the flaws now even if no one else could. Well one other could, he exploded. "You always has to be rubbing it into my face. I will never be good enough. I hates you, Skwisgaar seriously!" He stood and fled before the startled blonde could see the glitter in his eyes. 

Skwisgaar stood up uncertain as to what to do next. He had not expected the explosion of emotion. "It was onlys a little not perfects." His brow furrowed. He could hear the flaws in Toki's performance as clearly as he could hear the flaws in his because he knew both guitars' voices like most people knew a friend or a lover's touch. Did he not want to know where he went wrong so he could fix it? He frowned a moment then sighed and headed for his own room. Thinking about emotions made his head hurt.


	2. It's All About Rhythm

"You want to record in a... what? I must have heard you wrong Nate because no way would even you have said you wanted to record in an active war zone, because you see that is totally insane." Charles stared into intense green eyes. 

"I want a war zone. I can't record another album until I have one." Intensity turned to an almost puppy dog look. "I'll go into another depression." He heaved a great sigh. 

"But... " he closed his eyes knowing he was defeated. "Very well. I will find one, but you will all have extreme protective.... measures." He was talking to himself again. He sighed. 

Toki looked at the lyrics in dismay. "This is hard." He snuck a look at Skwisgaar who was already fingering out some ideas. He sagged and looked to where Nathan and Pickles were laying down the rhythms with Murderface listening and looking cool as a cucumber. 

"So then here we go 'dadada ra ra da da nananananan ra ra da da da datchtchtch da da da ra ra tadatch datch da dada da?"

'Yeah yeah, that's good Pickles, then here we go "dadadada na na tch tch dadadadada ra ra dadatadatadatafat tchtch daaaaaaaa!" 

"But wouldn't is sound stronger if we went, "dadadada dadadada tch tch dadadadada ra ra dadatadatadatafat tch tch daaaaaaaa?"

He tuned them out, sank down in his seat, and picked a quiet tune dejectedly. No one noticed except Skwisgaar. The other guitarist fell quiet listening to the near whisper of the guitar's voice as it sang of self doubt and dismay. He had been told a few times he wasn't the highest note in the melody, but once in a while he got an idea with absolute certainty. Now was one of those times. The voice that spoke in his head when he was straight enough to hear it informed him beyond any shadow of doubt that he was the one who had put that doubt there and he had to fix it or the next album would suck. 

"Toki, comes with me. We got to be practicing together."

"We never practices together."

"This one has to be more brutal than Dethtest."

"Yeah, I need you two to come up with something to knock their heads off! Something totally Metal! Something HEAVY!" Nathan was really into it, fists flying, voice dropping into a deep grating sound. 

Skwisgaar motioned him to come with him. "We'll go to the games rooms so you two can plays the air drums together." He laughed a little as Pickles protested that he was doing seriously professional work.

Eight hours later Toki was ready to bash the blonde's face in with his guitar as he called a halt again. 

"No, you is beings lazy again."

"I am not!" Toki glared at him. 

"Then do it right, you is better than this!"

"I hates you!"

"Then do your best, be better than me. If I didn't think you could, I wouldn't bother with such a dildo, criesbaby!"

"I can't be better than you." Toki stared at the angry, frustrated Swede in honest shock.

"What do you means by that?"

"You are the fastest guitarist alive, I can't be as good as you is."

"I am the fastest, but you is good, you is good enough to be the rhythm guitarist that plays with me. You are my partner. No one else is goods enough. Someday, I will plays the perfect song. It will be the most metal, most brutal songs of all time. I will plays the lead and you will plays the rhythm and there won't be no mistakes for neither of us. It will be perfect and Odin will cries and Valhalla will tremble. Until I get it right, I can't quit, I can't slow down, and I won't lets you either, cause nobody else can takes me there, Toki. I believes in you. That's why we is here now." 

Toki closed his eyes absorbing the disjointed rambling and finding in it something he needed. He counted to ten and started the piece over again even though his fingers were cramping and wrists were in agony. 

Days passed and the announcement came that a battle zone had been found, and basically neither side gave a darn who was in the middle so they were more than happy to keep fighting around the raised recording studio. Charles spent three hours briefing them on safety precautions while the band ate at the huge dinner table. During that time, they amused themselves by creating siege engines from their utensils and firing food at one another. Finally Murderface's mashed potato, pen spring, fork, and pizza cheese slingshot sent an orange sailing high and clear into the manager's forehead. he hit the ground with a satisfying thud.

Nathan scooped him up once they were sure he was not dead and carried him off to his room to recover. As the massive lead singer stepped through the door he tossed a parting shot over his shoulder. "I need to hear it all together tomorrow so we can fine tune it. Be ready." 

Toki groaned and stood trudging back to his guitar. 

Skwisgaar listened at the door a long while before coming in. He did not take his usual place behind his stack, instead he came over and went down on one knee in front of Toki watching his fingers on the flying V with critical eyes. Finally the brunette grew self conscious and quit playing. 

"What." 

"You has got the songs now. I have an idea. Something new." 

"What?" He felt a thrill of excitement. 

"It is all about rhythm."


	3. Summer to His Winter Lead to His Rhythm

"You is still fighting me, stops it!"

"I am not fighting, what do you mean?" Toki snarled.

Skwisgaar was startled, but they had been working at this new duet for two hours and Toki just was not getting it. He scratched his head then tried another tact. "It is like sexes." 

"What?"

"This duos is likes sexes, like if I was doing you and you were doing me, the rhythms would be mine and yours and different but then they would become the same and strongers because there is two having the sexes together who is both strong alone. You see?" The utterly blank look he got in return really pissed him off. "Sex S-E-Xes, you has had sex!"

"Y-yes, a long time ago." 

"What? How do you mean?" Skwisgaar looked puzzled. "A long time ago? Don't you fucks the groupies?" 

"No."

"Why not?"

"They're gross, they makes me want to puke." 

"Hows do you know if you don't fuck them?" 

"The last one made me puke, and the one before that in high school." 

"You have only beens with two girls? Ever?" Skwisgaar was staring at Toki like he was some sort of mutant, radioactive, sea horse.

"I uh likes to kiss the ladies, but that's all. There's nothing wrong with that!" He clutched his guitar to his chest defensively. 

Skwisgaar Swigelf thought there was something worse than wrong with that, something so incredibly wrong that it ought to be taken apart and studied at some hidden research center under a mountain far away where it could never get lose and contaminate other people. He spoke slowly in the awkward language, "you do not -LIKE- sexes? As in you don't wants to stick your you know in some girls whatever and boom booms her brains out? Is that true or is this some stupid tricks?" 

"I don't like it so just fuck off and show me again on the guitars."

"No you can't get it because you don't understand. I never thought of that." Skwisgaar ran his hand through his long golden hair thoughtfully and looked for a different way to get the other man to understand. 

"I'll get it tonight, I have to get it tonight." Toki's voice took on a pleading edge, "I'll works harder, please just show me again."

"Show you." Skwisgaar stared at him long and hard with his deep blue eyes, summer sky eyes. He noticed for the first time the light blue of Toki's eyes, winter eyes. He was summer to his winter, lead to his rhythm. He closed his eyes and heard their guitar duel again, the way Toki's anger had flowed through the strings that first time. It had been so much better than the second. His guitar had screamed at him and clung then pushed away, fighting and scratching and twisting away but always coming back. Two hawks, one older and fiercer, one younger and shyer testing their prowess, defying the skies, screaming at each other and with each other, coming close only to veer away. 

Toki looked up from his guitar at the hands that touched it running over the strings stroking the frets. You just did not touch another man's guitar. His eyes widened and he brought his head up to find that Skwisgaar's attention was riveted on his eyes. "What? Why is you looking like that, and touching my guitar?"

"Play the other duet. Plays it, but slower, don't be competing with me, plays it hows you hears it in your heads, in your dreams and I plays my part. No one else ever will can hear it this way. It doesn't have to be brutal or metal, but plays it rights, plays it the way your guitars want to says it." 

He frowned then closed his eyes playing the Dethtest duet, but not the way he had in concert. He put his anger and spiraling rage into it, his frustration, his jealousy and admiration, his hate and love into it. It was perfect, he knew it as it fell from his amp. It was the God of all power ballads. It was too much to bear and he was about to let it fade out when another voice joined it in sweet harmony. It rose and fell with it, lifting it then slipping away to let it sore free. Gradually the anger faded from the driving music until only a fierce joy and power remained. The music grew harder, metal beyond doubt, screaming to the stars that it was, that it lived. Two guitars, two voices, two spirits climbing for Heaven. 

Nathan checked the tape recorder sweating as the tape rolled closer and closer to the end. When the music stopped seconds before the spool hissed empty he leaned against the door and closed his eyes. "Oh fuck yeah. Now give me more, you two idiots, give me more. So close." 

Toki trembled as the echoes slowly died from the room. "Oh." 

Skwisgaar took his guitar and laid it aside reverently. The he took Toki's and did the same, laying the two side by side.

Toki was too shaken by the performance to protest as Skwisgaar sat on his knees directly in front of him. '

"Now, we know how to fly beside each other. Now It is times we learn how to fly together. I will teach you the rhythm, then you will understands." 

"What?" Toki asked as Skwisgaar cupped his face. "What do you want me to..." His words were cut off by a hot, demanding mouth. 

Skwisgaar reached out and flipped the playback switch. Their song blasted back at them as he pulled Toki up into his lap until they were pressed chest to chest and belly to belly with Toki on his knees astride his thighs. He put one hand firmly on his ass and the other at the back of his head and began to rock in time to the music grinding their bodies together as he held the other man's mouth hostage. 

Toki fought against him trying to pull away and when that failed hitting at his shoulders. He was just about to bite the full lips pressed to his when Skwisgaar's guitar joined his on the recording in what was nothing short of a caress. His eyes widened the slowly he relaxed. He stopped fighting for breath and found that if only opened his mouth like so, admitting the blonde's long tongue in the process, he could breath, together they could breath drawing in and sharing air. Coffee, he tasted of coffee and faintly of whiskey. He did not remember that low moan in the music, then realized it was coming from him. Skwisgaar's body, lean and long and athletic moved and all he had to do was relax into the movement and stop fighting it and it carried him along like a leaf in the tide on a pond. The long fingered hand on his ass was strong and warm and would not let him fall. He could feel the thunder of their heartbeats through his skin and through their lips and through the hard flesh of his cock where it rocked against an answering hardness in the Swede's jeans. 

"Opens them," Skwisgaar pulled back enough to whisper against his lips. 

"I..." he closed his eyes panting heavily then opened them again. Rhythm was being together, rhythm was trusting, no competition, no battling. It was about trust. He struggled with the zippers until he had their organs out, The shafts rubbed each other as Skwisgaar continued his relentless rhythm. 

"Play them, Toki, show me your fingering." 

He was at a loss so he just gripped both shafts and started stroking them along with the throb of the music, along with the rise and thrust of the man beneath him. He laid his head down on Skwisgaar's shoulder letting himself be held and rocked as he worked his hands reflexively on velvety skin. His eyes closed as the would narrowed to screaming guitars, calloused hands, and the scent and smell of another man, not just any other man, his rival, his partner, his brother. "Skwisgaar," he whispered. 

"Toki?" 

"I understand." 

"I know Toki, I feel it." 

He cried out stiffening as he came hard, spilling his seed over his hand. A moment later Skwisgaar joined him coating his other hand with sticky fluids. The music faded and they relaxed together as the adrenaline ebbed. 

"Is you ready to try? One time before this morning whens we does if for the band. One times perfect for us. Then we play for the others." 

He nodded standing weakly and zipped himself back in before wiping his hands on a bandanna. He picked up his guitar and without looking up asked quietly, "will you teach me mores?" 

"Don't tells no one and I will. I promise."

He nodded and hefted the guitar playing his fingers along the strings and taking a deep breath.


	4. All For You

"But we can't record the full effect of the fighting if we're behind all this bullet proof glass and concrete." Dark brows drew together and the stubborn chin set.

"I'm your manager and it's my job to protect you and this will," Charles began but was interrupted by an angry growl. 

"How can we make the most BRUTAL album ever if we hide behind this... this... THING!" He knocked the scale model of the bulletproof cage off Ofdensen's desk into the floor. Behind them a video camera showed the roadies working on the structure below. The framework was almost done. 

'You can still see the destruction and the sound equipment will carry in the sound perfectly well, you'll never know the difference."

"I'll KNOW! This is MY vision! My Concept! My ART!" 

"And you are my responsibility, my purpose, my livelihood." His voice was firm, though still brisk and efficient. 

"I WILL not record DETHWAR unless I FUCKING RECORD IT MY WAY!" Nathan roared. 

Finally the manager broke, his voice rising in what to him was a furious scream but was actually a sharp, clipped, snappish tone rather reminiscent of a New York, single mother of four, public transit worker shortchanged at a quickie mart. "And I will not stand by and watch you kill yourself and the rest of the band. There are people who happen to give a crap about you. Did you know that? Do you care what I have sacrificed for you? What messes I have cleaned up, what evidence I have destroyed, what injuries I have suffered? And I have done it all for you, Nathan, you arrogant, beautiful, son of bitch!" 

He stopped and blinked as Nathan's face went slack, realizing what he had just said. He immediately went into spin control to salvage the situation. He whipped off his glasses cleaning non-existent specks from the lenses with his handkerchief. "That is I meant to say you, arrogant, stubborn-" A huge hand cupped his chin and jerked it up until he was nose to nose with the hulking singer. His toes barely touched the floor. His glasses were taken from his hand and a soft click told him they were placed on the desk. He was very much aware that he was about to die, after all this time and all his work, it simply was not fair. Of course, as he often told his boys, a fair was where you got popcorn and cotton candy and this was the real world. His boys, they would be left to their own devices. He had thrown everything away with a grade-schooler's slip. That Harvard degree on his wall was supposed to mean he was smarter than that. What a joke on him. 

"Who will take care of my boys?" he asked softly.

"You take care of us," Nathan answered from close enough that Charles could feel his breath on his dry lips. He sounded puzzled. "What are you talking about." 

His heart thudded loudly as he swallowed. "Would you, uh, mind letting me go, Nate? Please." 

"No." 

"No you wouldn't mind, or no you would?"

"Yes."

"Yes to which?" 

"Huh? I don't know." 

The businessman caught his breath as Nathan pulled him closer. There was no way to turn his head in the harsh grip so he found his face pressed under Nathan's chin. Dark hair fell around him in an almost protective way, like a curtain separating him from everything but the smell, and sound, and feel of the man in front of him. 

The impossibly broad chest rumbled and only long experience at decoding his lyrics let him translate the words. "You care about us. And me. Dontcha?" 

"Yes. Yes I do." He answered quietly. 

The fist left his chin and miraculously his trembling legs held him upright as he feet came to rest on the floor. The hand returned, this time to the middle of his back, resting there, hot and heavy as if it burned right though his suit coat, dress shirt, and undershirt to his skin. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to just float. In a moment, it might well be over or some horrible fate worse than death might just begin. There was also a small chance that nothing at all would happen. Whatever course events would take would happen in Nathan's own sweet time, though, because the whole universe seemed to bow to his strange charisma, just like his manager. He might still kill him, break his spine with a snap, feed him to the yard wolves, torture him in a thousand cruel and interesting ways. He gathered his wits thinking rationally because that was who he was and what he did. Best case scenario, if he was still long enough, Nathan might well forget he was there, tucked under his chin, pressed to his chest. 

His chest, now that was not a bad thing. It was a good chest, strong muscles, with just enough softness in the belly to make you want to lay your head there. He blinked and resisted that line of thought. A physical reaction now would be bad, it would remind the violent musician that the much smaller man had just made a remark indicative of possible homosexual tendencies. There were options, there were always options and his mood lightened as he examined them methodically, sorting, ranking, and discarding them. 

It was several seconds before he registered that his jacket was now tossed carelessly on a chair, and large, blunt fingers were prying at the buttons of his shirt and from the looks of it rapidly growing frustrated. He brought his hands up taking over for them automatically and they moved up to his tie loosening it and tossing it after the jacket. The shirt was pushed off his shoulders as soon as the last button was clear and fell to the floor. 

"Nate?" His voice was low but firm. "What are you doing?" 

"Those clothes are not metal. Take them off." 

"My clothes?" Charles looked up at him and felt his confidence and authority rush back. For one thing, Nathan wore his normal look, a brooding glower that was not directed at anything in particular. For another, his skin tight black jeans were quite a bit tighter than normal and straining the zipper beneath the buckle.

"Of course, I will change them to something that meets your approval. What did you have in mind instead?"

"That's your room behind the desk?"

"It is." 

"Let's look."

"As you wish, Nathan." He lead the way into his neat and well appointed room then turned. He raised his arms above his head gripping the tail of his undershirt in each hand and dragging it over his head. He did not spend an hour a day in the gym with Toki for nothing. Under his suit was a strong, muscular body, neat and trim in spite of his age and the many hazards of his occupation. 

"I have so let myself go," Nathan groaned.

"Let me see," Charles answered without missing a beat.

Nathan stripped his shirt off without protest. Charles had seen him nude many times, but this was different, more intentional. He could not tear his gaze from the bold lines of his face. His hands fell to his belt buckle and it thudded to the floor. He stepped forward and freed the singer's belt the same way jumping as the huge buckle clanked loudly on the metal floor of the Murdercopter. He laid his hands on Nathan's hips sliding them up his sides to his elbows. Arms surrounded him pulling him wordlessly closer. He closed his eyes as he fell into the embrace that had haunted his dreams. 

He cleared his throat, "we have absolutely nothing in common, you know?"

"Yeah."

"No common ground."

"No ground," Nathan agreed as his breath ghosted over Charles' neck.

"The very idea is well. ludicrous."

"Totally lewd a whatever." Lips assaulted his neck with bruising force.

"Nate, I, you are - different worlds - oh my, oh, ah ," he trailed off in confusion as a knee slid between his legs and he found his aching groin rubbing blindly against a powerful thigh. 

His eyes drifted closed completely as Nathan took his lips in an kiss that stole his breath away. The differences in education, values, status, IQ, lifestyle, and personalities melted into a boiling core of desire that overwhelmed them both. 

"Oh fuck me," Charles whispered in awe.

"Okay." 

The band manager made a soft sound of surprise as he was laid down on his own bed, stripped naked and totally ravished with huge hands, hot lips, and silken hair. Nathan bit and sucked and marked his flesh as he mapped it out and staked his claim. Charles writhed and bucked and cried out. Even lost in passion, his cries were controlled and discreet, none of the wild screaming and cursing he heard from Skwisgaar's room at night. His control was turning Nathan on hot and heavy. He took his time driving the older man to the breaking point over and over before taking his legs and draping his knees over his shoulders. He pulled him forward towards where he knelt on the bed. 

"You're going to, oh my, do it Nate, do it." 

He stroked himself a few times then placed himself at the entrance to Charles' body and with a deep breath thrust in. His lover's scream rang like guitars in his ears and he leaned down covering his mouth stealing that sound from his lips just as he had stolen the private music Toki and Skwisgaar had been making earlier. 

The pain was inhuman, unbearable. Ofdensen's brows drew together and he choked back another scream. He was doubting he would survive this as Nathan moved inside him. Just as he was about to break away or beg him to stop, the feeling of being torn in half gave way to something else, He felt full, complete. The cock driving into him filled and stretched him from the inside. His body gleamed against the crisp white linen sheets. He moaned almost continually into the mouth that consumed his cries. He gave himself away like a wanton slut and with his body surrendered his control and his responsibility. The universal force that was Nathan Explosion stripped away cause and effect and truth and consequence and right and wrong as if the concepts had never existed reducing him to an animal that knew only lust and want and passion and need. He broke the lip lock panting heavily. "Nate, more. Please more." 

More he got. The dark haired giant pounded into his body at full force. His hands bit into his skin, painting it in bruises to match the hickies he had left. The room was filled with the soft sucking sounds of the massive shaft moving in and out of his tight ass and the slapping of skin on skin mingled with pants and moans and his low growl. He would hurt like hell tomorrow and for days to come, but for now, Nathan Explosion was his, only his. He leaned into his kiss again fisting his hands in the dark hair.

It seemed like hours later and yet way too soon when Nathan threw his head back in a victory roar that rattled the windows in their panes. His bowels were flooded with hot fluid and his entire body shook like a leaf. Darkness claimed his thoughts as Nathan thumped down beside him pulling him into his arms. The rocker was panting himself. He curled up against the larger body with his back to him. Nathan pulled the covers up around them and wrapped an arm around Charles kissing the back of his neck once then watching over him as he drifted off to sleep completely exhausted.

Nathan waited until his new lover was sleeping deeply and kissed his cheek. He whispered softly, "don't be mad. I'll bring us all back soon as the album is done." He kissed him again and slipped out dressing in silence and shutting the door behind him. He locked it from outside then laid the key on the desk where the servants could get to it if something did happen. He slipped out into the hallway and headed for the construction area, grabbing a servant on the way. 

"Get the sound stage down in place, it's done enough as it is. Wake up the band, tell them fuck practice, it's show time."


	5. Like You Never Dreamed

Skwisgaar gazed impassively as a bright glow streaked through the sky falling out of site behind a stand of nearby trees. A few moments later there was a dull slapping sound, then an explosion that sent up a plume of smoke and debris. "They is bombing us?"

"Not us," Pickles clarified. "We're just in the way here." 

"We are safe?" Toki asked concerned.

"Are you an idiot, this ain't safe, this is fucking stupid. We are all gonna die." Murderface scratched his belly looking annoyed but not  
really worried. 

"The manager said he was going to put in all kinds of safety features. I'm sure we'll be fine," Pickles asserted. 

There was a clunk and a hand grenade rolled onto the stage at their feet. "D-amn," Murderface scooped up the grenade and grinned.

The other band members dove to the ground. "Chill, the moron that threw it didn't arm it." 

"How do you knows?" Toki asked suspiciously sliding a little farther down between Skwisgaar and Pickles where it seemed safer.

"These are MurderGrenades." The bassist bragged. "I have an endorsement on them." He flipped it over and showed them the insignia on the bottom. "You can arm them two ways, pull this pin and press this button," he showed him on the grenade and the bat skull insignia's eyes lit up red, "or set them off by remote control. Brutal, huh?"

"Throw it!," three voices cried out in remarkable harmony. 

Murderface shrugged and lobbed it back the way it came. There was a tremendous explosion and more soot and ashes shot up into the air then rained back down along with chunks of flesh and hair and other less identifiable pieces and parts. "I got crates of these back home"

"That does nots reinsures me, very much," Skwisgaar griped as he stood up and brushed himself off. 

"Reunsures," Toki corrected.

"Reassures! Don't even start that crap! It's reassures, trust me," Pickles snapped.

"What are you guys laying around for?" Nathan bellowed before either Scandinavian could reply. "We got to do this in one, let's hit it!"

"We never get anything in one take," Pickles scratched his head, "what's going down?" 

"Shut up and go, We'll lay all the tracks in one. If we need to isolate anyone, we'll deal with that later. Plus, I'll beat the shit out of anyone who fucks up and makes me redo any part of this." 

Pickles and Toki both looked at him wide eyed while Skwisgaar's sky blue gaze narrowed dangerously, fine blonde brows drawing together. Murderface gave him a long appraising look, deciding just how far it looked like he could push the lead singer without getting killed. Not far it looked like today.

"Well piss, let's get it done then. I hate fucking morning," the bassist spat mildly.

They did the tune up and sound checks in record time and launched into the songs. The fighting grew steadily closer and more intense. The explosions shaking the stage. Self preservation as it turned out was an amazing artistic motivator. They did manage to get the tracks down close enough to perfect in one. What problems Nathan noticed could be mixed out. He saved the main piece until last when the ratcheting of machine guns matched the thunder of Pickles' drums. His gravelly voice soared out above the explosions. 

_There you sit in the void  
On a blood red throne  
Judging the sheep below  
You stir their weak souls  
Drive them on with lies  
Honor, religion, politics  
All fucking bullshit  
You whisper in their brains  
Die for your dreams  
I am Mars the bringer of War_

_But I can hear your words  
I can smell your deceptions  
I won't play your games  
You have no idea  
Who you're fucking with  
This time it will be you  
War will die! _

A spray of bullets slammed into the bank of spotlights over head showering him in sparks and shards of glass that glittered in his dark hair. He raised his fist noticing droplets of blood from the tiny cuts beading up. War was brutal, yeah, and what was more brutal than war, killing war, ripping it apart, disrupting it, crashing the fucking party. He smiled like a madman as he launched into the chorus. 

_War will die! War will die!  
Mars will fall by my blade  
I'll show you brutal  
Like you never dreamed  
The fallen are mine  
Their blood cries to me  
War will die! War will die!  
Death belongs to ME!_

Murderface growled as a handful of what looked to his practiced eyes like Japanese shurikens thunked into his bass case from the right side of the stage. He stomped over in that direction and dropped his pants, he took a good long piss over the side then plunked out a little trick bridge with his hog before zipping up and moving back to his normal place kicking some internal organs and intestines out of the way. 

_You think you know cruel  
As you plot and scheme  
But you hide behind big words  
And cower in fear of me_

_Face me now on the field of blood  
Challenge me while bullets sing  
Bring your pathetic War to me  
No more soulless talking heads  
Just Mars the Bringer of War  
And the killer who'll bring him down_

Skwisgaar glanced off to the side. There was a cloud of dust that would be upon them any minute. The bark of guns was constant and was really getting on his nerves. Blood and guts flew through the air from the grenades and he was getting crap in his hair. This was fucking dildoes as far as he was concerned. He shot a glance over at Toki and stared in disbelief. The Norwegian guitarist seemed utterly oblivious to the advancing army. He was playing beautifully. He was also totally into the music. His hips thrust and rocked behind his Flying V in a way that the Swede knew he had never seen him do before. A secret smile touched his lips and a hunger began to glow deep in the sapphire eyes. His groin stirred as he watched the small, but strong hands move on the strings. His own long digits flew across the strings making love to his Gibson Explorer though his mind was on innocent pale blue eyes and ripped muscles and silky brown hair. 

_War will die! War will die!  
Mars will fall by my blade  
I'll show you brutal  
Like you never dreamed  
The fallen are mine  
Their blood cries to me  
War will die! War will die!  
Death belongs to ME!_

Pickles watched his bandmates suspiciously, Something was going on, something totally messed up. Toki was playing like a demon and moving like he actually knew how. Skwisgaar had not thrown a single temper tantrum and he was to the redhead's shock, actually, almost, kind of smiling, a creepy weird smile that made his skin crawl. Murderface looked normal at least, though judging by the fact that he was not totally sucking he was freeballing again. Nathan though, Nathan in his unguarded moments looked absolutely... could it be... guilty. A severed arm landed on the floor in front of him, then a head slapped down onto his snare. "This is fucked up," he whispered careful to keep his voice low and under the sizzle of the high-hat as he pushed it off with his stick. 

_Like a thunderbolt of metal  
I bring Death screaming down on you  
Even Mars can die even War can die  
The battle smoke clears and ravens descend   
Bloated corpses stare with bloody eyes   
And what do they see through bloody tears   
The soldiers, the politicians, the sheep   
I stand atop the pile of bleach white bones   
I raise my fist to the smoke blackened sky   
Mars lies broken in a pool of red   
Beneath my booted feet War is dead, by my hand_

Nathan was sweating bullets. His shirt was soaked through. The armies were closing in on both sides, the bottom of the stage was  
riddled with bullet holes. One of the supporting walls tumbled to the ground as a missile struck it. It took most of the overhead rigging  
with it. Then out of the smoke a figure loomed. One more chorus, then the guitar break, they could not stop now, they were too close.

_War will die! War will die!  
Mars will fall by my blade  
I'll show you brutal  
Like you never dreamed  
The fallen are mine  
Their blood cries to me  
War will die! War will die!  
Death belongs to ME!_

Nathan almost faltered but turned it into an impressive war cry instead as the guitars launched into their duet. His green eyes locked on the form walking toward them growing solid and identifiable as it emerged from the battle haze. His suit was flawless, his tie neatly in place. His lips were compressed into a straight line, all business. His stomach heaved. Charles Foster Ofdensen was holding a B.A.G., a Big Assed Gun, and it was pointed dead at his chest. He considered halting things, considered saying something lame like 'let me explain' but he was too close. He kept his eyes locked with the manager as the guitars sounded for all the world like an unholy union of Nordic gods. If he were not staring down a barrel as big as his fist he would have had one hell of a hard-on. He bit his lip hard and the blood flowed freely, the copper taste and the sweet smell of cordite in the air had him trembling with emotion. His voice rose, a paragon of power and passion and arrogance as he rode the finale through then hit the final chorus. 

_War will die! War will die!  
Mars will fall by my blade  
I'll show you brutal  
Like you never dreamed  
The fallen are mine  
Their blood cries to me  
War will die! War will die!  
Death belongs to ME!_

As the last note died, the amplifier behind him exploded in a shower of sparks. Time went into slow motion for him then. He turned in time to see Toki lunge hard to his right knocking Skwisgaar to the ground as the back end of the stage blew off. He saw them crawl under a pile of rubble cradling their guitars like their children. He swung his head back and saw the big gun in Charles' hand buck and flash. He gaped and waited for the impact. 

"Huh?" The bullet flew past his ear and blew a hole in a crazed soldier behind him. He turned his head again and saw the knife that had been headed for his back clatter from the twitching hand. 

"Skwisgaar, Toki, crawl on through there and head toward the flare."The manager snapped, his voice carrying uncannily over the din. 

"What flares?" the blonde screamed. 'I don't sees no... oh, neversminds." He grabbed the rhythm guitarist and ran as the sky burst into fireworks over head. 

"Nate, grab the recording before we lose the sound board. Do not make this for nothing because you are going to pay regardless." His voice was matter-of-fact as he released another controlled burst of explosive shells into the writhing mass of soldiers. 

"Yeah." Nathan nodded his acceptance of the threat. He grabbed the precious recorder and headed after the guitarists. 

Pickles fell in beside him cursing and muttering. 

"William," Charles made his way over the pile of bodies to where the bassist was packing his instrument. "You have it?"

"Yes, yes I do." He pulled out what looked like a pewter bracelet with a red eyed bat on it.

They followed the rest of the band to where the Murdercopter was waiting, a large platform had been lowered to the ground. Armed servants stood all around protecting the two Scandinavians who waited impatiently. As soon as everyone was on it began to rise lifting them to safety. 

Just before they were inside, the Manager handed his gun to a hooded man and dusted himself off. "If you will, Murderface." 

"With pleasure." He pressed between the red eyes on the strange bracelet. Across the battlefield below, small red lights lit up the darkness. The explosion left a smoking crater full of twisted smoking body parts and rubble.

"Whoa, what was that?" Pickles asked.

"Universal remote," Murderface said smugly.

"What a coincedentses that theys all have your grenades, Murderface." Toki said in wonder.

"Ain't no coincidence, he answered smugly with a gap toothed grin. Manager ordered them for both sides and airdropped them down there. I made a fortune." 

Nathan turned to face the business man putting his hands behind his back and looking at his feet as soon as they stepped off the lift into the copter. "Uh, Charles, well, I should, oh fuck, I am so bad at this stuff." He turned and punched a fist into the wall. "I need to say," He slammed his head into the same wall to clear it. "I am sorry, okay, dammit." 

"Hmm."

"Hmm? What does hmm mean?" 

The others watched the two curiously.

"It means hmm. We will talk later."

"I want to talk now," Nathan insisted.

"It's good to want things." The manager turned and walked away disappearing deeper into the helicopter.

Nathan felt the weight of their gaze upon him. "Eh... uh... what are you looking at?" He glared at the others. 

"What happened to the safety features?" Murderface asked innocently. 

Nathan's head drooped, "uh, long story. Who wants booze?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the difficulty in reading caused by Skwis and Toki's horrible grasp of the English language. I actually played back episodes over and over taking notes on the sounds and words they messed up to keep it accurate. I also tried to keep their IQ levels pretty close to what they are in the show.


End file.
